


Still Don't Know My Name

by fangoyle



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cheating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Scheming, Veronica Lodge is So Done, an unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:07:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangoyle/pseuds/fangoyle
Summary: The eerie discord of the dial tone rings like an ominous warning and when it stops abruptly, her breath catches in her throat at the sound of his low, groggy voice. “Lodge, to what do I owe this pleasure at this ungodly hour?”“Are you alone, Jones?”
Relationships: Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge, cheating!Barchie
Comments: 38
Kudos: 186





	1. Still Don't Know My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eerie discord of the dial tone rings like an ominous warning and when it stops abruptly, her breath catches in her throat at the sound of his low, groggy voice.
> 
> “Lodge, to what do I owe this pleasure at this ungodly hour?”
> 
> “Are you alone, Jones?” 

Veronica Lodge doesn’t know who she is without her name. 

The thought of which she washes down her aching throat with the bottle of wine she just stole from her daddy’s collection. _Fuck him,_ she thinks solemnly, wiping a stray droplet from her bottom lip before resting her chin on her fist, heavy with resignation. 

Ever since he’s come back to her life, all he’s done is wreak havoc on the lives of those she cares for - _including that of her own mother-_ and the innocent townsfolk who up to that point had never had to deal with the nefarious dealings of mafia men, serial killers, and crazy cults; only strangely seductive board games and ludicrously named gangs had been the scourge of the streets of Riverdale. _Then her goddamn father came along and flipped the whole town on its head, creating a new oppressive status quo._

She takes another long gulp of the bitter liquid, drinking not for pleasure but to numb the pain of yet another long-lost battle to her father: the ever-growing distance between her and her beloved Archie Andrews. Hiram wasn’t even directly behind this one, he just sowed the seeds of division and gnawed away at her relationship to the point that it currently hangs by a few weak threads that could surrender to gravity and _snap_ any day now. 

To think that after all the crazy this town put them through they’d come out somewhat scathed, but at least landing on their feet like a cat with nine lives because at this point, _let’s face it_ , their group of friends probably does have nine lives with the unprecedented amount of trauma they’ve all faced. She thinks of Jughead and Betty, how seemingly resilient and steadfast they are, dedicated above all else to each other, the ideal ride or die, high school sweethearts. 

But then her mind drifts to the way Betty looks at Archie when she thinks no one is watching, and the picture-perfect relationship the school gossips endlessly about dissolves and disintegrates like paper to a flame. _So much for Bughead forever._

Soft giggles and shy glances, the type that always accompanies first crushes, radiate from those two whenever she finds them together. She felt her eyes burn the second she saw it, but now, _god_ , all she feels is the truth weighing her down to the mahogany dining table. 

With the way Hiram treated Archie, she’s not surprised that he’s drifting back to the human safety blanket that is Betty Cooper, but she is surprised that he hadn’t done it sooner. What she doesn’t know is if she’s the only one who’s noticed, because Jughead still looks at Betty Cooper like she’s the sun, like she’s god’s gift to the fucking Earth— _and it’s driving her insane._

They say ignorance is bliss, but she wants to ruin him. She wants to wipe his smug happiness clean off his face and live up to her name, destroying the last thing tethering them all together. If she plants the seed of doubt within Jug, there’s no doubt that he’ll get to the bottom of it, and what he’ll find will irreparably tear their friend group apart. 

Everything in this town is on the verge of being damaged beyond repair, even if it’s inhabitants aren’t all exactly cognizant of the fact, _somehow,_ Daddy Lodge isn’t exactly subtle with his scheming and always gets away with it.

And she’s so fucking tired of people getting away with murder —both in the literal and metaphorical sense— that she unlocks her phone and calls someone she’d never call in a million years, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.

The eerie discord of the dial tone rings like an ominous warning and when it stops abruptly, her breath catches in her throat at the sound of his low, groggy voice.

“ _Lodge_ , to what do I owe this pleasure at this ungodly hour?”

“Are you alone, Jones?” 

She swirls her finger along the edge of the wineglass, listening to the rustle of sheets and blankets from his end of the line, amusement tugs at the corners of her lips when she hears his hushed hesitation. “Why do you ask?”

“We need to talk,” she starts. “And without an audience, I’ll be working the closing shift at Pop’s tomorrow, be there at 10.”

He sighs and she can practically hear him pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Fine, whatever you want, _princess_.”

She kills the line and presses her phone back onto the table, feeling the distinct satisfaction of getting the ball rolling on one of her schemes. 

_Once a Lodge, always a Lodge._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my first fic and I posting this gave me soooo much anxiety lol.  
> I wanna know: did you like it? do you want more? what parts did you enjoy?  
> I'd really like some feedback, so tell me in the comments what you think!
> 
> Songs that fit the chapter vibe:  
> Bad Religion by Frank Ocean  
> Still Don't Know My Name by Labrinth


	2. I'm Not The Only One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His long legs clad in black skinny jeans stick out of the booth lazily as she approaches, sea-green eyes scrutinize her with inherent skepticism. Veronica arches an amused eyebrow, eyes flitting to the clock above the kitchen, ten o’clock on the dot.   
> 
> 
> “Punctuality has never been your strong suit, Jones,” she slides onto the red vinyl seat across him. “Why start now?”
> 
> He sucks in his bottom lip and tilts his head to the side, “Well, when Veronica Lodge calls you in the wee hours of the morning to schedule a clandestine meeting, you show up…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I took so long with the update! Enjoy

The stench of delectable, greasy food swirls around the Pop’s atmosphere, comforting and familiar much like Pop himself. Veronica surveys the scene with a discerning eye, watching the late-night crowd dwindle. Waiting impatiently for him to make an appearance. 

Each jingle of the front door chime has the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. 

She carries the evidence of their transgressions in the pocket of her apron like a loaded gun. Her phone burns with a cursed video of a lip-locked and progressively half-naked Archie and Betty, all taken by one Kevin Keller. 

Part of her wishes that she’d never seen them in the first place and ignored Kevin like Betty told her too. I mean at the time, she did have a point, the boy tried to get her lobotomized, which in itself was psychotic, but the second the footage downloaded onto her phone all rational thought flew out of the window. 

It was horribly shot, but the two subjects were unmistakably her boyfriend and best friend making out in the backseat of her pale-blue car. She could spot that red hair and blonde ponytail anywhere. 

His face wasn’t visible, tucked into the crook of her slender neck, as her hand palmed the rear window. Her head was thrown back in apparent ecstasy and her perfect pink lips arched in an O, a sight seared into the backs of her eyelids like an inescapable nightmare.

Throughout the following week, she drifted through the five stages of grief. 

_Denial._ She called in sick to work and school, citing a fever, and instead marathoning old musicals to avoid the world beyond her window. She ignored the worried texts and calls from her friends, the notifications blinked up at her expectantly, almost tempting her to respond. But when the contact names of Betty and Archie popped up, she immediately shut her phone off.

_Anger._ She took it out on everyone around her, allowing fragments of her old queen bee persona to take over like a protective shell. Tearing down others brought her a sick little joy that they were now as miserable as she was. She gave Cheryl a run for her money. 

_Bargaining_. She came up with so many absurd theories, but she settled on toying with Betty until she broke, it was far more productive than ruminating on the _what-ifs_. “So you and Archie have been studying a lot together lately,” she remarked one day in the student lounge, and Veronica watched in disappointment as Betty's entire being seized with tension and turned to her with a Stepford smile and a lie. 

_Depression._ For days on end, she felt hopeless, there was this sense of karma that weighed her down. That all this is happening for a reason, that she was a terrible person who deserved this. Negative thought loops persisted, whispering suggestions of self-destruction until she found herself halfway through one bottle of Pinot noir with the aim of finishing it and blacking out at the forefront of her mind, betrayal took a backseat to her hedonism.

_Acceptance._ The night before was decidedly the last night she’d moped around, she needed to get her hands dirty. Betty and Archie had been together. Fact. She now knew about the affair. Fact. However, she had forgotten to account for the other half of this equation: _Jughead Jones_.

Her hands are balancing orders of fries, milkshakes, and burgers for a couple a few booths down from the door when he finally strides in, dripping wet from the downpour outside with his beanie dangling from his long fingers. It’s a rare thing to see the hair atop his head, and for a flickering moment, she thinks he could _almost_ pass as a knockoff Timothee Chalamet if he didn’t tuck it into that god awful beanie every day. 

The thought of which is unsettling, but she shakes it off with a smile and a pleasant chirp of _bon appetit_ as she sets down the food. Her eyes follow his languid stroll to his favorite booth, raking across the _southside_ emblazoned across his broad shoulders and the leather that clings to him, the serpent on his back glares daggers at her. 

His long legs clad in black skinny jeans stick out of the booth lazily as she approaches, sea-green eyes scrutinize her with inherent skepticism. Veronica arches an amused eyebrow, eyes flitting to the clock above the kitchen, ten o’clock on the dot. 

“Punctuality has never been your strong suit, Jones,” she slides onto the red vinyl seat across him. “Why start now?”

He sucks in his bottom lip and tilts his head to the side, “Well, when Veronica Lodge calls you in the wee hours of the morning to schedule a clandestine meeting, _you show up_ …”

“Ah, so it was the intrigue of it all wasn’t it,” she smirks, leaning forward on her forearms. “But not the threat of trouble that would follow if you didn't?”

“Believe me when I say that I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to incurring the wrath of a Lodge, however, intrigue and trouble tend to follow you like a moth to a flame, _princess_ , and you and I know that I, unfortunately, happen to be someone with an affinity for both.” He exasperates with the weariness of a world leader, but a playful, knowing smile betrays a fondness she knows he only reserves for a select few. “So which is it gonna be this time? Intrigue or _trouble?_ ” 

She doesn’t remember when exactly Jughead began to look at her like that, perhaps it was after their numerous brushes with death, _shared trauma has a way of bringing people together._

And then she thinks of Archie and the way he used to look at her like she was a diamond in the rough, like the last precious thing in this town and her throat constricts.

Pursing her lips before she allows a ragged sigh to escape, “I’m afraid it’s trouble, but not the kind that we’re used to, just a dash of teenage melodrama that we’ve no doubt missed out on.” 

He chuckles and a slightly unnerved, puzzled expression ripples across his face. 

“Don’t you have Betty for this sort of thing? Gossip is not exactly my area of expertise.” 

She’d been imagining how this conversation would play out in her head all day, but she couldn’t predict just how heavy the guilt of sitting on this information would weigh on her, like water to a dam. Two voices in her head go to war, the angel wants to spare him the grief, _his ignorance is bliss,_ but the much louder and selfish devil doesn’t want her to be alone in her heartbreak.

“I can’t tell Betty about this because it involves her,” she looks at him squarely in the eyes, unwavering, imbuing her gaze with meaning. 

His brows furrow and he sucks in a sharp breath, leaning forward and nearly meeting Veronica halfway. Hardly taking his eyes off hers, his voice dips into a low, dangerous whisper that contradicts his words, “I’m not following, Lodge.”

She pulls out her phone and slides the damning evidence across the table.

“Betty and Archie have been… _seeing_ each other. Kevin sent me these...”

Her voice drifts off at the crestfallen tilt of his frown and the storm brewing in the depths of his iris, a reaction not of surprise, but one that tells her that Jughead hasn’t been as oblivious as she believed. He looks away abruptly, fixing his gaze on the space between their hands. 

The unspoken words hang between them with an unbearable heaviness. There’s nothing but the sound of some saccharine jukebox tune playing softly in the background, simpering about true love in a way that only serves to be a mockery of their pain. 

Her hands slide over his knuckles before her thumbs settle by his wrist, rubbing circles along the sides in comfort. When he finally looks up, he meets her with something akin to resignation before uttering broken words that carve into her, “Do you think they’ve...?”

The implication sits at the tip of his tongue and sinks into Veronica like fresh poison in her veins.

“I’d be surprised if they haven’t,” she mutters, dark with a newfound loathing.

He retracts his hands to entangle his fingers in his unruly hair, cradling his head with his hands and sinking into the red vinyl. “How long have you known?” 

“Not long,” she reaches forward for her phone, tucking away the grainy video back into her apron. “But long enough to process it.”

He nods, but he’s lost in his thoughts, eyes unfocused and staring straight through her, as though there’s a supercut reel playing in his mind. 

There’s a part of her that feels at a loss for words, she’s usually the one with a quick quip or literary quote that fits the bill, but nothing seems to fit. She feels as scattered as he looks. 

“I know I should’ve told you earlier, but telling you would’ve made it _real_ , and I didn’t want it to be real.” The words tumble out, unfiltered. “We’d um, we’d been through so much together, and at first I thought... _no_ , not my Archie, he loves me too much, he wouldn’t dare….” Her eyes fall to her lap where her fingers have begun to fiddle with the hem of her uniform, focusing on the loose threads calms her, and helps distract her from the ache in the back of her throat. “And then I saw _her_ with him and something in me just…. _shattered.”_

She can hear his shallow breathing, but she presses forward, losing her Lodge-learned composure as her voice cracks with emotion. “Two of my _—our_ favorite people in the entire world sneaking around like we’re nothing like the past few years meant abso- _fucking_ -lutely nothing _—”_

_“Veronica.”_ Her head jerks up, looking at his shining eyes and the weak, pained smile he musters. _“It’s okay,_ I would’ve done the same thing _.”_

“Oh, _please_ , Jones,” she scoffs. “You’d just try to get your sweet revenge and knock out that Ginger Judas out the second you laid eyes on him.” 

“Now that you mention it,” he releases a shaky, bitter laugh, before meeting her gaze with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Revenge does sound pretty sweet, even if short-lived.”

Her lips twist into a sly smirk, _“_ Great minds think alike." 

_“_ Hypothetically, how far would you be willing to go _?"_ His fingers drum against the table in thought. _"Revenge-wise?”_

_“Full dark, no stars.”_

He purses his lips as if weighing all his options; she challenges him with raised eyebrows, daring him to say otherwise.

_“_ Then I guess we're on the same page _, princess."_

For a moment, they watch each other, wary of each intake of breath and the growing conspiratorial grins that paint their faces. 

“Well, then it’s settled,” she extends a hand to him, ever the businesswoman, and they shake on it, but neither let go.

She drinks him in like a cat that caught the canary. _Game. Set. Match._

“ _Hell hath no fury like a Jones and a Lodge scorned.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I was pleasantly surprised and truly grateful for all the feedback I received on the first chapter. Any thoughts, questions, etc. please comment below and I'll try to answer back asap :)
> 
> Here are some songs that fit the vibe:
> 
> Laughing On the Outside by Bernadette Carroll  
> Tell Me When by the Applejacks  
> Fool That I Am by Etta James  
> I'm Not the Only One by Sam Smith


	3. In The Mood For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He then turns to her, brow arched, as if expecting an answer, and Veronica realizes that he probably did ask something, but it’s too late. “Hey, space princess, made it back down to Earth yet?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!

_Revenge is never a straight line._

The words echo from the living room flatscreen and resound throughout the nearly empty apartment. The only other sound comes from Jughead crunching loudly on over-buttered popcorn on the opposite end of the sectional. 

“Stop chewing so loudly,” Veronica hisses. “It’s barbaric!”

All he does is snicker in response. _Dickhead._

It was his idea to begin their research with the master of revenge himself, Quentin Tarantino, but Veronica knows that it was probably just an excuse to use her state of the art sound system. 

Although, it _is_ a nice distraction from their trifling significant others, and most of all, it’s just nice not to be alone, left to her thoughts, from which she could easily succumb to another binge-drinking spiral and end the evening clutching her Japanese toilet like a lifeline. 

She doesn’t have a lot of people in this town, her father’s reputation has made it near impossible to have a clean slate, and now, given everything that has transpired, there’s nothing more she could possibly do other than accept her bad reputation. True friends are a luxury in Riverdale, and besides Betty, she’s not sure she really has anyone else other than Cheryl, who can hardly peel away from Toni for five seconds. Everyone else is neatly filed under the category of acquaintance. 

_“_ Did you know that this is a direct reference to the 1973 cult masterpiece, Lady Snowblood?” 

Veronica sneaks a glance at Jughead through her glasses as he rattles off more film commentary, lauding the cinematography as they watch the Bride’s training montage. His passion is endearing, and strangely enough, she can understand his appeal, why Betty and Archie adore him as much as they do. It’s all in the light in his eyes as he watches something he truly loves. It’s infectious. 

He then turns to her, brow arched, as if expecting an answer, and Veronica realizes that he probably did ask something, but it’s too late. “Hey, space princess, made it back down to Earth yet?” 

She throws pop-corn at his face in retaliation, “Fuck off, Jones.” 

He redirects his attention back to Kill Bill, but the smirk that blooms on his face is self-satisfied and smug, and good god a part of her wants to wipe it clean off with a better comeback. 

The other part of her though, small yet vocal, wishes something else altogether, something that she tries to repress immediately and tucks away under lock and key. A _dangerous_ truth. Something better left to the dark recesses of her mind, better left unspoken. 

And yet... as she watches him reach for the remote, watches his lithe and long fingers turn up the volume, she finds herself wondering if he’s as good with his hands as Betty said he was. 

_Revenge is never a straight line._

Veronica descends down the secret staircase to the Bonne Nuit, she can feel the bass vibrate the further she goes, having just closed up Pop’s to join her peers below. The air is thick with weed, spilled alcohol, and sweaty bodies; glamour isn’t on the menu tonight, under the guise of a post-exam kickback, she’s invited nearly the whole senior class to set some chess pieces in motion. 

Upon arrival, she spots Archie, drunk at the bar and stealing glances at Betty, who’s perched on Jughead’s lap across the room, avoiding his careless stare. 

It takes everything in Veronica to not lose it. He’s not even trying to hide it and it’s fucking insulting.

She struts toward Archie with purpose, and if he were a smart man, he would know that her painted smile bears no light, no humor behind it. It’s hollow with disappointment. But Archie, for all of his good qualities, is hardly the brains of their bunch. 

“Ronnie!” He breathes out and draws her in, a bone-crunching hug that’s definitely compensating for something. For added effect, he spins her around like they’re the protagonists of some Hollywood romance, exaggerating for his intended audience and performing the role of the adoring boyfriend rather than living it. He chuckles against her neck, “About time you made it to your own party.”

"Yeah, about time," she mutters weakly, for a moment, before perking up. "It looks like you've been having an awfully good time though." She nods to the whiskey in his glass and the shot glasses that keep it company, hardly keeping the edge out of her voice, so much so that he winces. 

"I've had a rough day," he looks away, sheepish. "I needed to chill myself out." 

She draws his face back to her, cradling his strong jaw within her small hands, looking at him squarely in the eyes, “What’s got you down, Archiekins?” 

The remorse and guilt emanate from him in waves, he leans into the palm of her hand and his eyes flutter shut, his lips kiss the inside of her wrist, and if she wasn’t so mad at him, she swears she could fall in love all over again. Maybe he really does want to tell her the truth, maybe he really does still love her, but it’s in his hesitation to respond that Veronica finds herself realizing that whatever love shared between them isn't enough.

She can’t trust him anymore. 

_Revenge is never a straight line._

A bruising wind whips at her cheeks as she stumbles out into the cold 2 A.M. air, the party is still swinging below, but she can’t take it anymore. She’s got a bottle of cabernet dangling from her fingers, she swiped it from her secret stash beneath the cash register. The vicious elixir chips away at her bitter mood. 

“We should give them a taste of their own medicine,” a familiar voice startles her. Slowly, she turns to face him, finding him closer than she realized, towering over her. 

“What are you on about, Jones?” she slurs, taking a final swig before setting it down.

Dazed green eyes brazenly rake over her tight little uniform, “An _eye_ for an eye?”

Her eyebrows arch, “Bold of you to assume that option’s even on the table.” 

“Come on, _princess_ ,” he rolls his eyes, chuckling softly at her disbelief, and regards her with a crooked grin. He slowly walks her back until she’s pressed up against the wall, both of his hands fan over the side of her waist. Then he lowers his head to whisper in her ear, low and utterly dangerous, “Don’t tell me the thought has never crossed your mind?”

He smells like whiskey, cigarettes, and self-destruction, all the hallmarks of bad decisions, but as his breath pricks the crook of her neck and the warmth of his hand burns through the polyester fabric of her uniform, she entertains the idea of having her way with him. 

For a moment, she drowns in red wine thoughts, thinking of all the ways he could relieve the pressure between her legs, and the sexcapades Betty has whispered of after one too many drinks. But her hands push against his chest, the small distance she creates serving as a barrier, albeit not a good one. 

“Easy there, tiger,” she squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces. “This whole proposition has _mistake_ written all over it and you know it.” 

“I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if we might regret it the next day, I would give _anything_ to feel anything but the way I feel right now. I can’t stop thinking about _them_ together and seeing them flirt with each other right in front of us…” His voice breaks as he pleads. “I can’t pretend like I can’t see it, Veronica, it’s making me go _insane_.” 

She snakes her hands around his waist and pulls him into her, molding his body against her own. She holds him tight as he shakes with soft sobs. “This feeling, Jug, it feels like it’ll last forever, but trust me when I say this too shall pass.” 

“Then please… can you help me forget?” He pulls back so that his forehead rests against hers, his face is flushed, “Even if it’s just for a moment.” 

She sucks in a sharp breath, “We wouldn’t be any better than they are.”

“We lost that edge a long, long time ago, princess,” he whispers against her lips and slides his hand down her hip to toy with the hem of her uniform. “After all, you and I were never meant to be saints.”

Around them, the wind is violent but not as violent as the heart beating in her chest. His fingers climb up her leg and slide between her thighs, she gasps and shuts her eyes.

_Revenge is never a straight line._


End file.
